


Boundless

by Tattered



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattered/pseuds/Tattered
Summary: Even the skies cannot fathom how deep their love will run. A collection of prompts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My favorite couple out of all my favorites, and the prompts that I wrote a while back. I've completed the series (or rather, placed it on a hiatus after the third season of DA), but you ma leave me prompts if you wish. Enjoy!

**Prompt: Nighttime**

The hounds are after her again.

Her suitors cannot be blamed. She is a beautiful woman, albeit a widow, and a powerful one as assured by her beloved Matthew. She will not want for anything she cannot attain. Her engagement to any man will be pivotal for anyone she chooses. They have been persuading her with gifts – golds and silvers and gems that tinkered when sunlight streams from the window. They have been praising her youthfulness, from the silken nature of her hair to the alabaster pale of her skin.

But her heart does not yearn for their words or their devotion. She wants it from Matthew – only Matthew.

At night, she slips on her nightgown and sits on the bed, brushing the creaseless sheets and the plump pillows. She has long abandoned her side of the bed. Instead, she crawls to where Matthew used to rest, imagining the golden halo of his head and the warmth of his body. If she closes her eyes, she can still imagine the paleness of his skin and the marks that littered his torso, the narrowness of his hips and the strength of his thighs. He was – _is, my dear_ – a sight to behold, and she will take all the stars that light the heavens just to have him with her again.

As she buries her small body with the blanket, she can still feel his roughened hands hold the ball of her shoulder, keeping her against his chest. She can still hear the thudding against his ribcage, a lullaby sung even upon her waking hours. She would have kissed him where she felt the pulsations, lips brushing from the site to his nipples, up to the expanse of his pectorals, to the hollow of his neck, to the angle of his jaw, to the pink of his lips. In her youth, she appeared cold and uncaring, but with Matthew she melted into a loving woman.

Sometimes, tears escape her eyes – the first weeks after his death; the times she visited his grave; when George first walked; when their boy first called her Mama when it would probably have been Papa; whenever a new suitor comes; when she first kissed another man months after his death; when she rejected her first suitor's offer of marriage after his death; when Tom came to her on the anniversary of Sybil's death; on every anniversary of his death; on every birthday he will never have; when Granny succumbed to old age, then her father, his mother, her mother, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore; when George first invited a girl – _she's a nurse, Mama, and a brilliant one. I wish to marry her and love her wholeheartedly for the rest of my days—_

_My love, you have missed a lot._

She heard of the story of Queen Victoria, whose husband, Prince Albert, died due to typhoid fever at the age of 42. In their story, the queen has asked for his bed clothes to be prepared for every night until she died. For Mary, she will always have her stuffed dog – their lucky charm, the one that brought them through war and epidemic – on the bedside table. Every night, she whispers her prayers.

_Watch over us, my love._

Before she succumbs to her dreams, she will always whisper _I love you, terribly so_ to the spaces between her body and the sheets, and the wind usually whispers back s _o do I, darling. So do I._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I got my heart's desire, and there my troubles began." ― Lev Grossman, The Magicians

The first time he saw her, he was stunned.

As much as he despised the idea of marrying one of his distant cousins for their immediate family to secure Downton Abbey – their home for as long as they've walked on earth, his objections had become futile. She strode in to their home, head held high and expression steeled with politeness. A true-born lady, bred from the moment she left her mother's tomb. He could read indignation in her pursed lips, her courtesy in her straightened shoulders and spine, and her hatred in her invisibly twitching eyebrow. With her expression, he reckoned she heard his opinion about their current situation, and was furious and taken aback.

Then she spoke to them, displaying the flourish of her upbringing. She had enough grace not to pay him attention. As her lips parted, he reckoned the heavens began to open the skies in an outpour of beauty. She was undeniably most beautiful. He felt his heart jump to his throat, his jaw dropping in command, and his eyes widening. He looked like a fool, but he could care less.

From his previous thoughts, his mind shifted to a possible future, where the woman – _Cousin Mary_ – would walk down the aisle and he would be manning its end. No matter how bedraggled he imagined her, she would forever be marked in his thoughts as a goddess. From a coat, she was projected in his mind as a vision in white, the veil hindering him from the expression in her face.

_Good Lord, she is one of my hosts and I've insulted her and her family. She must despise me truly. Yet, make her my bride and I shall forever be held captivated._

_"You're far too busy, and I do not want to push in,"_ she said, her eyes pointedly gazing at him. He could feel her eyes searing his mind, ready to pry him open to show how he is not crafted for this life.

When she turned, her skirt fluttered against the grace manifested in her steps. God, he kept on preaching to his mother about the lack of necessity of the wealth which he may someday gain that his prejudice towards the aristocratic echelon of society was oversimplified. What kind of a man is he, to insinuate such incredulity without shame? His mother taught him better than that. He was supposed to be a gentleman. Swallowing what is left of his pride, he willed his legs to move, dashing down the hall to the walkway out of their house.

She was perched elegantly on her horse, her simple words to her company more commanding than he can muster. This woman was made to be Lady Grantham, and not even him being heir-presumptive can stop her. He could carry the storm with him, shaking Downton to its core, but Lady Mary Crawley will always prevail.

" _Of course, and I agree. The whole thing is a complete joke."_

He could only envision what trouble he got himself in.


End file.
